Woman Felt Something Heavy on Her Chest; She Discovered It Wasn’t The Dog!

Woman Felt Something Heavy on Her Chest; She Discovered It Wasn’t The Dog!

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Woman Felt Something Heavy on Her Chest; She Discovered It Wasn’t The Dog!

A Brisbane woman discovered a massive carpet python coiled on her chest in the middle of the night, handled it herself like a true Australian, and admitted she would have been more terrified if it had been a toad.

Listen to “Woman Felt Something Heavy on Her Chest; She Discovered It Wasn't The Dog!” on Spreaker.

NOT THE DOG

Rachel Bloor woke up late on a Monday night in January 2026 to find a heavy weight pressing down on her stomach and chest. Half asleep in her second-story Brisbane bedroom, she assumed her labradoodle had climbed onto the bed for a cuddle. She reached out to pet the dog. What she felt instead was smooth, cool, and distinctly not furry. It moved.

She immediately woke her husband and told him to turn on the lights.

His response was calm: “Babe, don’t move. There’s about a two-and-a-half metre carpet python on top of you.”

That’s roughly eight feet of snake. On her chest. In her bed. On the second floor of her house.

THE SIDE-SHUFFLE EXTRACTION

Bloor’s first thought wasn’t about herself. It was about the dogs. Specifically, her Dalmatian. If that spotted maniac realized there was a snake in the room, she knew it would be, in her words, “carnage.” So her husband dutifully removed the dogs from the bedroom first.

Then he left.

Bloor’s husband retreated to the hallway and instructed her from there to slowly crawl out from under the covers. The woman with the eight-foot constrictor draped across her torso gets to figure out the exit strategy while her husband provides moral support from a safe distance.

Bloor performed what she described as a “side-shuffle” — carefully sliding out from beneath the blankets while an enormous reptile that could theoretically squeeze small mammals to death lounged on top of her like she was a heated rock.

DIY SNAKE REMOVAL

Most people in this situation would call a professional snake catcher. Queensland has plenty of them. Their phone lines are probably open at midnight for exactly this kind of emergency.

Bloor, having grown up on acreage surrounded by snakes, decided to handle the situation herself. She grabbed the python. It didn’t seem concerned about being grabbed. In fact, it “sort of just wobbled” in her hand — the python equivalent of a shrug.

The snake had entered through the plantation shutters on her bedroom window. Even while fully coiled on top of her, part of its tail was still hanging out of the shutter. She guided it back out the same way it came in — no professionals necessary.

WHAT IS A CARPET PYTHON?

Carpet pythons are non-venomous constrictors native to Australia and Papua New Guinea. They’re named for their intricate patterns of dark and light markings that resemble a woven carpet, though whoever named them was shopping at different furniture stores than the rest of us.

These snakes can grow anywhere from two to four meters long — roughly six to thirteen feet — with some individuals reaching even more impressive lengths. They’re excellent climbers, semi-arboreal (meaning they spend considerable time in trees), and mostly nocturnal. They have heat-sensitive pits along their lower jaw that let them detect the body warmth of potential prey, making them efficient hunters of rats, possums, and birds.

They kill their prey by constriction — wrapping their muscular bodies around an animal and squeezing until it suffocates — then swallow it whole. Despite this method of food acquisition, carpet pythons are generally docile around humans and popular as pets. They will bite if threatened, and those backward-curving teeth can deliver a painful wound, but they don’t pose a serious threat to adult humans.

They also, it seems, enjoy sleeping on people’s chests.

Snake activity increases in Queensland during breeding season and when eggs begin to hatch. Local snake catcher Kurt Whyte explained that hot weather brings more pythons out to bask, and as housing developments continue expanding into Australian bushland, the snakes have to find new places to live. Human backyards offer excellent habitat. And human bedrooms, it seems, offer excellent sleeping arrangements.

Whyte noted that gaps in garage doors provide perfect entry points for snakes seeking shelter. Plantation shutters work just as well.

THE REAL TERROR

After the encounter, Bloor reflected on what had happened. She and her husband weren’t scared, she said, because they’d grown up around snakes. This was startling, sure, but not panic-inducing.

What would have terrified her? A cane toad.

“I can’t stand them,” Bloor said. “They make me dry retch.”

For those unfamiliar with the Australian hierarchy of disgusting creatures, this requires context. Cane toads are widely considered Australia’s most hated invasive animal. In community surveys, they consistently rank as the most despised pest in the country — more loathed than foxes, rabbits, or even the snakes that climb into people’s beds uninvited.

The cane toad was introduced to Australia in 1935, imported from Hawaii as a biological control for beetles that were destroying Queensland’s sugar cane crops. The plan: bring in a toad that eats beetles, watch it solve the beetle problem, take credit for brilliant ecological management.

What happened was a disaster scientists are still dealing with nine decades later.

The toads were released without any research into their potential environmental impact. Nobody even verified whether they would eat the cane beetles they were supposed to control. They barely touched them. The beetles live high on sugar cane stalks, and cane toads can’t jump that high. The toads instead ate everything else — insects, small animals, pet food left outside, native species that had no evolutionary defenses against them.

And they bred. Prolifically. A single female cane toad can lay up to 35,000 eggs at once and may produce two clutches per year. With no natural predators in Australia and an abundance of food, their population exploded. From the original 101 toads imported from Hawaii, and the 2,400 released that first year, scientists now estimate there are over 200 million cane toads hopping around the continent.

They’re also toxic at every life stage — eggs, tadpoles, and adults all contain potent bufodienolides that stop the hearts of most animals that try to eat them. Native predators like goannas and quolls have experienced devastating population declines because they keep eating the toads and dying. The cane toad is officially listed as a “key threatening process” under Australia’s environmental protection laws.

The toads continue spreading at a rate of about 50 kilometers per year. They’ve now colonized Queensland, the Northern Territory, New South Wales, and Western Australia. They survived crossing the vast distances of the Australian outback. They established themselves in Kakadu National Park.

So when Rachel Bloor says that an eight-foot python coiled on her chest is less frightening than a cane toad, she’s expressing a sentiment that roughly 26 million Australians would understand. The snake is a snake. The toad is an ecological catastrophe.

AFTERMATH

All animals and humans emerged from the incident unharmed. The python found somewhere else to sleep. The dogs remained unaware of how close they came to attempted snake combat. Bloor’s husband eventually came back inside.

Brisbane residents might want to check their plantation shutters.

REFERENCES

NOTE: Some of this content may have been created with assistance from AI tools, but it has been reviewed, edited, narrated, produced, and approved by Darren Marlar, creator and host of Weird Darkness — who, despite popular conspiracy theories, is NOT an AI voice.

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